


Veritas

by audikatia



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam and Declan are Bonding and Ronan is just going to have to Accept It, Canon Compliant, M/M, Post-The Raven King, Pre-Call Down the Hawk, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28101903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audikatia/pseuds/audikatia
Summary: “Oh man, we should all go! Family road trip! Remember when we’d go to New York with Mom and Dad?” Matthew’s voice was a careful balance of wistful, nostalgic, and optimistic, and it had an immediate effect on the older Lynches.As the two of them exchanged wary looks, Matthew threw Adam a conspiratorial wink and Adam realized Matthew knew exactly what he was doing. Maybe, Adam mused, Matthew had gotten more from Niall than just boxing lessons and a life of secrets.(Or, The Harvard Road Trip with Lynch Brothers, featuring Adam's Anxiety, Ronan's Bad Mood, and Declan and Adam Bonding)
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 23
Kudos: 202
Collections: Pynch Secret Santa 2020





	Veritas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SingerQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingerQueen/gifts).



> Apparently Harvard's motto is Veritas, or Latin for "Truth." Can't wait for that to come up in one of the next Dreamer Trilogy books with Ronan staring poignantly into some Harvard merchandise right after learning of another of Adam's lies to his classmates. Anyway, it made for a good title so it all works out.
> 
> This was written for Pynch Prompt Week 2020/Pynch Secret Santa 2020 for SingerQueen who wanted Adam and Declan bonding. I hope you enjoy this!

Harvard. He had gotten into Harvard. _Harvard_.

Adam felt boneless, his entire body turned to jello from a combination of the congratulatory letter sitting on the bedside table and the congratulatory blow job Ronan had just given him.

“God, don’t tell me you stared at that letter the entire time I was sucking you off.” Ronan rolled his eyes, though that did not stop his slow ascent of kisses from Adam’s jutting hip bone up along his ribs.

The late afternoon light was strong through the half-closed blinds, Adam could see several of Ronan’s dreamt herds in the field just beyond the cluttered backyard. Every press of Ronan’s lips to his shivering skin was felt tenfold, and his body shook occasionally from both the aftershocks and Ronan’s fingers still lightly tracing him. The sheets were hot under his sweaty back and distantly, he heard Opal drop something in the kitchen that made a terrible shattering noise that he figured he’d have to clean up later. He committed every single sensation to total memory. 

He had gotten into Harvard.

He had come over after his shift at Boyd’s Mechanic, gross and sweaty and exhausted and thrilled to be back at the Barns, and Opal had immediately greeted him, running alongside his shitty tri-color Hondayota with trilling excitement. He got out of the car and was instantly gifted with an armful of little girl with goat legs chanting about the mail. Ronan had sat on the steps of the porch, a single large envelope unopened in his hands, the large Harvard crest very clearly branded on its front.

Every dollar he had stuffed in his cereal box kept under his bed in the trailer he had shared with his parents. Every late night he had sacrificed to polish a good essay into an impressive essay. Every draft of his application essay he had agonized over, forced Ronan to read, forced Gansey to read, let Ronan force Declan to read. All of that effort neatly concealed in a large white envelope.

He had read it three times before finally looking up at Ronan and throwing himself into him with hard bright eyes, relieved and arrogant and mystified all at once. Ronan had practically carried him up to his room, their room, yelling at Opal to keep herself occupied and for the love of Christ do not eat _that_.

It still did not feel real.

“What’s wrong, Parrish?” Ronan mumbled against his collarbone where he was making excellent work of his tongue lathing unspoken praises into Adam’s skin.

Adam keened into the touch, gripping Ronan back with one hand and tracing a favorite curled feather tattooed below Ronan’s sharp shoulder blade. His other hand reached out to the paper, holding the trifold apart just enough to see _We are pleased to accept…_ once more.

“I know it’s not MIT,” he started. The memory of that rejection letter still smarted when he pictured receiving it weeks ago, but that felt faraway under the blissful haze of this new acceptance letter. “But this is a pretty good second choice.”

Ronan rolled his eyes again. “Jesus, are you mad because it’s not MIT? Are you never happy?”

Adam laughed a little, suddenly a little giddy.

“I don’t know,” he said, kissing Ronan’s shaved head reverently and bringing his hand away from the letter to smear his thumb over Ronan’s frown with significant intent. “I was pretty happy five minutes ago.”

No longer frowning but instead smiling with pride and no small measure of self-satisfaction, Ronan sealed his lips over Adam’s. _Harvard_ , Adam thought as he licked into Ronan’s mouth. _Harvard_.

* * *

The large envelope was the forebearer of many smaller envelopes over the next week. Nearly every day, a new piece of mail was delivered emblazoned with the Harvard crest: a catalogue of Harvard merchandise, a stock congratulatory letter from the head of the Engineering department, a calendar of upcoming events for recently admitted students.

Adam, not particularly prone to sentimentality, saved each piece as though to prove to himself during his doubtful moments that, yes, he really did get accepted to Harvard, yes, this really was happening. Also, he thought maybe he could save up to buy Ronan a Harvard hoodie. The thought of Ronan wearing anything with the Harvard logo had proven to be a significant distraction as soon as the mental image first appeared in his mind.

Ronan allowed most of this with more patience than Adam would have suspected even six months previously, handing Adam the mail wordlessly everyday with his arrogant smile. But Adam had not assumed Ronan had actually looked at any of the mail until Ronan asked him if he planned on going to the open house that upcoming weekend?

“What?” Adam asked, blinking at Ronan over their late dinner of reheated pasta.

“I saw on your calendar, there’s some open house shindig this weekend. For new students. Might be cool to check it out.”

“Oh,” Adam frowned, “I don’t know. I have work this weekend. The scholarship they gave me isn’t going to cover textbooks. Besides, I don’t really need to see it. It’s not that big of a deal.”

This was both true and not true. True that Adam did not need to see it, but not true in that it was a huge deal and Adam was desperate to see the campus he had stared at longingly only through glossy brochures and long internet searches. But the most important truth was that the textbook costs were daunting and he did need the money and that was that.

Ronan shrugged, smearing pasta on his plate in jagged lines through the marinara sauce. Adam thought the subject had been dropped when Ronan started up again.

“Yeah, I know it’s not a big deal, but it might be cool if we went. Think of Opal’s hooves on the cobblestones.”

“Cobblestones?” Adam drew out the word, his eyebrows raising a little higher with each syllable.

“Yeah,” Ronan said around a mouthful of pasta, clearly ignoring Adam’s derisive tone. “Isn’t this place like Hogwarts or some shit?”

“No, Lynch,” Adam sighed heavily. “There are over 300 years of design into the campus and grounds. There’s the Roman-esque, red-bricked style from the 1880s. There’s the Harkness Commons Harvard Graduate Center that was designed by Walter Gropius, the founder of the Bauhaus school. It was the first modernist structure on campus, actually. And the whole open floor plan of Gund Hall provides opportunities for cross-fertilization and collaboration between different disciplines. And, oh.”

He caught sight of Ronan’s face smirking at him and under the table, he felt one of Ronan’s bare feet hook itself around Adam’s ankle. He hadn’t realized Ronan’s game until he was faced with the consequences of it. Adam wanted to go, Ronan knew this, they would go.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Ronan continued smirking. “We’ll go this weekend.”

* * *

“Wow, Adam! Congratulations!”

Matthew punched Adam in the arm jovially, beaming even as Adam rocked into Ronan’s shoulder from the surprising force of Matthew’s affection.

“Hey,” Ronan snapped, a little sharper than necessary, “don’t do that.”

“It’s fine,” Adam said quickly, assuring both brothers that he knew the action had been meant fondly. He knew Ronan was remembering much different punches and shot Ronan a small, reassuring look.

“Ha, sorry about that!” Matthew apologized easily. Adam could never get over how simply the words would spill from Matthew. He had never heard Declan utter them and the few times Ronan had apologized had been a bit like pulling teeth. “I’m just really happy for you, buddy.”

Adam was distracted from the surprise and warmth at the sound of Matthew’s usual nickname for Ronan being directed at him by Declan shifting in his seat across the table. Declan scrubbed a cloth napkin over his mouth before clearing his throat.

“Yes, congratulations, Parrish. Harvard’s a great college.”

There was only a second of loaded silence between all four men and Adam squeezed Ronan’s knee under the table. _It’s not a dig at you, it’s not a dig at you._

“Yeah,” Ronan finally relented, but in a distinctly dick-ish manner, “we’re all so proud of our boy.”

They were all gathered at an Indian restaurant in D.C. Declan had chosen for his birthday dinner. He had barely picked at the food on his plate though, Adam noticed. Then he saw both Matthew and Ronan’s plates had been nearly picked clean and realized the truth behind his decision.

Something about Declan’s quiet gesture for two brothers, who probably did not notice and probably would not thank him even if they did, struck Adam as profoundly caring.

“We’re actually going to go up to campus this weekend for their open house,” Adam said suddenly. He did not normally speak much on the rare occasion he allowed himself to be included in Ronan’s time with his brothers and he was even less likely to bring up a topic on his own. Perhaps this was why three pairs of vividly blue eyes all landed on him, all a mix of excited, surprised, and cautious.

“This weekend?” Declan had a habit of repeating clearly stated facts as though he had learned that trick from a Ted Talk on active listening. “Sounds excellent. If you have time, there’s a new modern art exhibition at the Busch-Reisinger Museum featuring some new acquisitions from Wolfgang Tillmans. It’s all about thematizing the object of the photograph and is supposed to be pretty impressive.”

“Yeah,” Ronan deadpanned, “we’ll check that out first.”

“Asshole,” Declan said perfunctorily. He poured his expensive wine from the elegantly stemmed glass into the somewhat lumpy but mostly satisfactory mug Matthew had made for him in art class and had gifted to him for his birthday. The blue glaze of the mug was not a perfect match to Declan’s eyes, but it was close.

Ronan had gifted him with a dreamt set of cufflinks that boasted “BOSS BITCH” that Matthew had uproariously laughed at and Adam had smirked at and Declan had sighed at before pocketing them carefully. Though Ronan assured Adam that Declan was a big boy and could buy himself whatever gifts he wanted so he didn’t need to waste his money on him, Adam had still selected a nice but generic navy tie with a subtle diamond pattern. He had actually called Gansey and asked what tie brand his father preferred, assuming Mr. Gansey was the type of man Declan wanted to emulate.

“Oh man,” Matthew exclaimed suddenly. Now it was Matthew’s turn for all eyes to focus on him. “We should all go! Family road trip!”

The insistence that he was not actually family to Matthew and Declan died on Adam’s lips as Matthew cheerfully and aggressively barreled on, completely ignoring the apprehensive looks his brothers gave him.

“Remember when we’d go to New York with Mom and Dad?” Matthew’s voice was a careful balance of wistful, nostalgic, and optimistic, and it had an immediate effect on the older Lynches.

As the two of them exchanged wary looks, Matthew threw Adam a conspiratorial wink and Adam realized Matthew knew exactly what he was doing. Maybe, Adam mused, Matthew had gotten more from Niall than just boxing lessons and a life of secrets.

By the end of the dinner, it was decided. The Lynch brothers plus Adam would take the road trip to Harvard that upcoming weekend.

* * *

Considering Opal had already been cross with Ronan and Adam for leaving her all evening to have dinner with Ronan’s brother the night before, Adam knew she would definitely not take well to the idea of being left with the ladies of 300 Fox Way for several days in the same week.

That was how he found himself kneeling in the dirt beside the porch, peering into the small dark crawlspace he and Ronan could not fit into that Opal had claimed as one of her many hiding spots. The air was a little cooler under the porch and the smell of the soil was pungent and intoxicating. A pair of furious eyes blinked back at him.

“You like Maura and Calla, remember?” he reminded her, trying to cajole her from the dank, earthy space. “Calla taught you how to dislocate someone’s shoulder last time.”

He had not completely forgiven Calla for teaching Opal this trick, though Ronan had found it endlessly amusing and had allowed her to practice on him whenever the mood struck.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’m not leaving forever, just the weekend,” he explained, his voice as patient this time as it had been the first time he told her.

“When you left your parents, you left forever.”

“That’s not what this is,” Adam glossed over the sharp sting in his heart at her words. “This is just a weekend.”

“And then longer.” The despair in her voice was nearly palpable and suddenly she darted out from under the porch and into Adam’s space to stare unerringly into his eyes. She was maybe two inches away, his entire world was an unfocused close up of her eyes. He could smell soil on her breath and knew she had been snacking on dirt clods.

“Are we making you leave like your dad?” she asked quietly.

“No,” he answered, just as quietly.

Adam knew he could live with the fractured relationship he had with his parents, knew he could live with his ruined hearing, knew he could live with the fact that he had been abused and neglected. He did not like these facts about himself, but he reasoned he could not change the truth of them. But the ripple effect his father’s abuse had caused everyone around them was sometimes as hard to take as the constant memory of that first swing his father had ever thrown at him relentlessly playing in the back of his mind.

Ronan appeared beside them, pulling Opal’s attention away from Adam as he tossed her a plucked fig-like fruit from a tree she was too short to reach on her own. She often coveted them and could be seen occasionally debating if it was worth forming an alliance with Chainsaw in order to get the raven to fetch her some. Her distaste for the bird outweighed her desire for the fruit most days, so she clutched greedily at this fruit freely given to her and ran off before Ronan could change his mind and take it back from her.

“You spoil her,” Adam said without any heat as he accepted Ronan’s outstretched hand.

“Yeah, well.” Ronan shrugged, pulling Adam to his feet, “you don’t let me spoil you.”

They stood in the yard, not releasing the grip they had on each other, and Adam reached out with his free hand to trace a line across Ronan’s sharp cheekbone.

“I hate your dad,” Ronan told him, eyes serious and honest.

“Thanks.”

* * *

Thursday evening found Adam and Ronan politely and begrudgingly, respectively, on the front step of Declan’s brownstone home. At their feet was a tidy suitcase and an overstuffed backpack, respectively. In Adam’s hands was the fig-like pie he had carefully held while Ronan had driven them a respectable 20 miles over the speed limit.

Matthew had mentioned their mother’s pies at Declan’s birthday dinners, how she would use the fruit from the farm to bake on special occasions, like birthdays or saints days or when Niall promised he’d be home but then didn’t return. But really, the thought had come to him when he had seen Ronan’s face while they had been cleaning out the kitchen pantry and came across Aurora’s old pie dish. He had seen Ronan’s expression blurred in the shiny red ceramic and had instantly wanted to erase it.

Declan answered the door quickly enough, giving the street behind him a cursory glance left and right before letting them inside.

“Paranoid, much?” Ronan sniped good-naturedly, immediately taking their bags upstairs to the guest room.

Declan gave Adam a wordless look like he expected Adam to apologize for him, but Adam said nothing and instead handed the pie to Matthew who brought it to the kitchen table immediately. Adam felt awkward in the foyer of Declan and Matthew’s home, a feeling not helped by Declan’s similarly awkward stance. He wanted to meet Ronan upstairs, he did not like to be in anyone else’s home.

“Dinner,” Declan said bluntly, turning on his heel.

* * *

Loud and obnoxious fighting noises came from the adjoining living room, but Adam could barely hear Ronan and Matthew’s video game over the sound of the running water as he scrubbed the smooth red ceramic of the pie dish.

The pie hadn’t been particularly good, but Matthew was a bottomless pit and Ronan seemed happy enough to eat anything Adam ever made, no matter how clumsily. Surprisingly enough, it had been Declan silently standing up to get himself a second slice that had been the sincerest form of praise.

“You some kind of housewife, Parrish?”

Adam startled a little, the dish slipping in his soapy hands. Declan had come up on his deaf side with a single raised eyebrow that might have assumed disinterested pleasantries, but Adam was starting to assume this was just Declan’s version of Ronan’s smirk.

“Ronan makes the same joke.”

The eyebrow dropped as Declan’s expression soured at the comparison. Adam smiled thinly back at the dish, thinking how Blue would have approved when Declan settled beside him, towel in hand. Wordlessly, he started drying the dishes already washed and when Adam finally handed him to the ceramic bowl, shiny and clean and free from any crusted filling, Declan nodded at him.

* * *

It was not often that Adam, ever exhausted Adam, woke up with a start in the middle of the night, but the stress of this trip to see Harvard mixed with the discomfort of being in someone else’s home and the worry over Ronan’s troubled dreaming resulted in Adam’s eyes snapping open. It was some indeterminable time, there was no clock in the guest room and his phone was plugged in on the other side of the room. But the inky blackness outside the window and the quiet stillness in the house assured Adam they were still in the throes of the night.

Careful not to disturb Ronan, he turned in the bed, twisting the blankets around his hips, to watch Ronan’s prone form. Adam checked him for nightwash, but saw only stubbled pale skin unmarred by black residue. He watched Ronan’s eyes for the telltale twitch of his eyes under his delicate eyelids, but saw only perfect stillness. He brushed the tip of his finger down the long slope of Ronan’s roman nose, but saw only his face burrow more firmly into the pillow.

He wanted to press his mouth to Ronan’s, slip his tongue through Ronan’s full parted lips, and bring him to wakefulness to steal these moments of closeness while they still had time. He wanted to drape his body over Ronan’s the way he loved when Ronan did to him, his heavy weight grounding him to the mattress as they kissed, whispered, touched.

Instead, he slipped out of bed, slipped out the door, and made his way downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of water.

To his surprise, Declan was already there and looking completely out of place in a pair of navy pajamas. They were monogrammed, which Adam was not surprised to see, but he did note just how much younger Declan looked just then. It was suddenly hard to forget he was only a year older, not truly an adult, not actually Ronan and Matthew’s parent.

“Is everything okay?” Declan said immediately, already moving as though to stand from the kitchen table where he had been sitting. “Did he dream something?”

Adam held up his hands, heart spiking with adrenaline at Declan’s immediate leap to action in Ronan’s defense.

“No,” Adam said forcefully, enough to stop Declan’s kinetic energy. Then again, calmer, “No. I just woke up.”

Declan stared, unblinking blue eyes under sleep-mussed hair. Or maybe mussed from fretfully running a restless hand through them. Adam had seen anxiety enough in his own mirror to recognize it now. Whatever he saw on Adam’s face convinced him to slump back down at the table. He had never seen Declan sit like this either, legs askew and back bent. Adam was used to the solid lines of Declan’s legs where they were supposed to be, his back a perfect line of attention.

“I’m not going to tell anyone about him.”

Declan stared again, eyes narrowing defensively.

“I mean,” Adam amended thoughtfully, “not about this.” He gestured vaguely at Declan, at the ceiling roughly where Ronan still slept in the guest room. “Not about the dreaming.”

Declan said nothing, but the suspicion bled a little from his tired face. Adam turned his back, drank an entire glass of water in two swallows, and went back upstairs without another word shared between them.

* * *

The morning had started easily enough. All brothers were early risers, a side effect of growing up on a farm, Adam assumed. They moved around each other with gentle shoves and scuffs on the backs of heads and backs of shirts grabbed to slow someone down. Was this having brothers, Adam wondered not for the first time as he watched Matthew land a casual elbow into Ronan’s chest so he could use the bathroom after Declan.

Adam had no brothers, had no concept of how to fit himself around all this brotherly energy, and instead waited his turn to use the bathroom, waited his turn to get coffee, waited his turn to toast frozen waffles. Ronan had rolled his eyes, but slipped his freshly toasted waffles onto Adam’s plate for him before making more for himself.

Then they piled themselves into the car, Declan and Matthew in the front, Ronan and Adam in the back. Declan’s Volvo had won against Ronan’s BMW on the merits that he had gotten his oil changed more recently.

“Yeah,” Ronan said, throwing himself into the backseat of the car carelessly, “my mechanic’s been distracted lately.”

He grinned at Adam as he entered the cab on the other side of the car, laughing when Adam shoved at him in response. Ronan twisted in his seat, back against the door and legs slung out over Adam’s. Adam’s hands instinctively curled around Ronan’s ankles, his thumbs pressing just behind Ronan’s elegant ankle bones.

“Besides,” Matthew said cheerily, beaming at the easy affection of Adam’s hands, “this way you and Adam can be in love in the backseat.” He said _love_ like a cartoon character, vowel drawn out and wavering like a trombone note.

Adam’s face flushed, but Ronan only flicked at Matthew from behind his seat and pressed his heels more insistently into Adam’s thighs.

Matthew laughed, “Just don’t be gross.”

In response, Ronan licked his finger and put it in Matthew’s unsuspecting ear, pulling high pitched squeals from his brother. Declan’s eyes met Adam’s through the rearview mirror, weary gaze meeting amused, and he shook his head. And then, they were off.

* * *

Two hours into the ride, Ronan could not take Matthew’s music anymore. Adam thought this was unfair since Ronan often subjected everyone to his music for longer periods of time, but he wasn’t about to lose a hand to the battle for the aux cord.

“Nobody wants to listen to your shitty music,” Ronan insisted, digging a knuckle into Matthew’s forearm to get him to let go of the cord.

Matthew shook him off and held the cord just beyond Ronan’s reach before offering it to Declan.

“How about Declan picks?”

Any response Declan might have had towards Matthew’s insistent fairness was cut off by Ronan’s groan.

“God, Declan’s going to want to listen to some boring podcast about power stances and passive aggressiveness.”

“It’s about René Magritte’s The Son of Man, actually,” Declan said coolly, “but thanks for playing.”

“Oh, the one by Tamar Avishai?”

Adam had barely spoken in the last two hours, half asleep in the backseat and content to lazily massage Ronan’s calves, and was rewarded for speaking up by all three brothers watching him.

“Yeah, you’ve heard of it?” Declan’s eyes flicked between Adam’s eyes in the rearview mirror and the road ahead as he merged into the middle lane.

“I’ve been meaning to listen to it but haven’t had the chance to yet,” he shrugged.

Declan gave a shrug of his own, a more clipped version of Adam’s slouched one, before taking the aux cord from Matthew to plug in his phone.

“You have to be kidding me,” Ronan lamented, slumping down in his seat and throwing an arm over his eyes as though to block out the world. Adam gave Ronan’s leg a sympathetic pat before leaning back while Declan raised an eyebrow.

“Two against one, little bro.”

* * *

“I cannot believe you want to stop in fucking New Jersey.”

Ronan stared at the farmhouse Matthew had arranged to rent, not even bothering to look at his brother but just shaking his head slowly. Declan had met with the owners to get the keys for the guest house, leaving the other three to look out at the rolling hills.

It was pretty, Adam decided, but had none of the mysticism of the Barns. This was most likely due, he reasoned, to a distinct lack of actual magical components knitted throughout the fields. But the sun shone pleasantly over a flock of sheep calmly spread across the grass like dandelion seeds, and the faint sound of livestock was reassuring in its familiarity.

“This is the halfway mark between us and Harvard,” Matthew reasoned blithely from his perch on the ground, reaching out to the jewel-bright chickens meandering around their ankles.

“We could have driven there a day, it’s not that far.”

At Ronan’s tone, Adam thought he understood something.

“A road trip means we stay the night somewhere!”

“Fucking New Jersey though?”

Adam let the playful bickering continue around him, another sound that blended into the tapestry of these unfamiliar acres, content just to watch Ronan. He watched Ronan roll his eyes at his brother, bite at the leather bands looped around his wrist, glance back at Adam as though to make sure he was still there.

 _I’m not leaving yet_ , Adam thought. _I’m not leaving forever._

* * *

Hours later, after a tour of the farm from their hosts that Matthew was enthralled by, Ronan was critical of, Delcan was bored with, and Adam tagged along for, after dinner comprised of a mash up of take out from chain restaurants twenty minutes away, after a promise of an early night in for the rest of the drive the next day, Adam was nestled into his favorite spot between Ronan’s neck and the mattress beneath him.

As Adam kissed Ronan’s bare shoulder, he pressed his hearing ear to Ronan’s neck. His entire world of sound was the thrum of Ronan’s pulse slowing back to normal, the rush of blood and life threading through him. He licked a line of sweat from the curve of Ronan’s shoulder to just below his ear, nipping gently at his earlobe.

“It won’t always be this long to get to Harvard,” Adam whispered.

Ronan did little more than grunt in response, but his hands tightened on Adam’s hips. Adam rolled up into his grip, pressing a hand against the back of Ronan’s neck to keep him close.

“I know you,” he continued, leaving open mouth kisses on the bolt of Ronan’s jaw, the beautiful path of skin to his mouth, the corner of his lips. “You’ll speed down the highway, you won’t stop to sleep.”

He rolled their naked hips together again, sensual and reassuring and greedy and loving.

“It’ll be so much closer,” he promised before Ronan kissed him and did not allow for any more words.

* * *

They listened to Matthew’s music on the way to Harvard, each syncopated beat ricocheting off of Adam’s own erratic heart.

This was going to be wonderful. What if they recognized him for what he was the moment he stepped on campus? He had worked so hard for this. They were going to tell him there had been a mistake. He could finally see the libraries he and Gansey had talked about ad nauseum. There was probably a new letter waiting for him at the Barns that said his placement was given to some son of a rich man who had made a last minute donation. He had dealt with the loss of his hearing in one ear, emancipation, three part time jobs, one of the most academically challenging prep schools in the country, a search for a dead king, becoming a magician, helping his best friend sacrifice himself to save a magical forest, his best friend coming back to life, lost blissful hours in Ronan’s car, in Ronan’s bed, in Ronan’s dreams, and he had still managed to get accepted into one of the most selective schools in the country. He deserved to be here. What if he didn’t belong?

As though Ronan could hear his thoughts, he felt pressure on his calf as Ronan slid one long leg across the expanse of the back seat to lock his foot around Adam’s ankle. Their eyes met over Matthew’s offkey singing and something in Adam’s mind quieted.

* * *

The campus was a sea of red and brick and greenery, and Adam did not have enough eyes to look at everything at once.

“The Harvard Library is the largest academic library in the world,” the caffeinated tour guide, a girl not many years older than Adam and Ronan, recited collegiately, “includes 20.4 million volumes, 180,000 serial titles, an estimated 400 million manuscript items, 10 million photographs, 124 million archived web pages, and 5.4 terabytes of born-digital archives and manuscripts. Access to this rich collection is provided by nearly 800 library staff members who operate more than 70 separate library units.”

Matthew and Declan had almost immediately left the tour in favor of a coffee cart the group had passed, but Ronan remained by Adam’s side even if every muscle in his body suggested he wanted to be anywhere else.

Giddy and emboldened and so so grateful, Adam quietly reached for Ronan’s hand and pulled it out from where it was tucked in his pocket to thread their fingers together.

“Thank you,” Adam said just as quietly, “for tricking me into admitting I wanted to come.”

“I always want you to come,” Ronan assured him, then jerked his head towards the guide. “Now shut up and pay attention to this chick. I listened to that goddamn ‘this is not a pipe’ podcast for you to be here, so focus.”

* * *

Butterscotch ice cream in hand, Adam walked back to the bench Ronan and Matthew lounged on, already eating their own ice cream cones. He approached them from behind, unnoticed, but stopped as Matthew’s voice cut through clearly.

“Are you worried about him leaving?”

Ronan did not answer, did not move even as ice cream dripped lazily onto his fingers.

A movement beside him alerted Adam to Declan’s presence, a small dish of vanilla in his hand. Declan’s eyes were heavy on him and Adam saw that same suspicion from the night at Declan’s kitchen table flash across his face again.

“He promises he’ll come back,” Ronan said finally, wiping the mess of his hand against Matthew’s shirt.

Matthew’s gleeful protest played in the same beat as Adam’s nod to Declan.

* * *

Adam knew when he applied to Harvard, hell he had known since he decided to attend Aglionby, that this path he had chosen would situate him among privileged preps for close to a decade. Longer, he reasoned, if he got his masters. Longer still, he assumed, depending on what field he ended up in.

So he was not surprised to be as surrounded by this fraternity-studded entitlement as he was during this tour. Long used to the barbed comments and thoughtless, off-hand remarks from students, Adam could note it with a detached sort of observation. He was mostly anonymous in this crowd, his carefully selected Oxford-style outfit had been just as carefully ironed at the rented farmhouse that morning. Ronan had teased him endlessly, standing behind him and punctuating every “nerd” comment with a kiss on Adam’s neck. But Adam had refused to give in to Ronan’s hands and was grateful for it now to stand here in this crowd and feel part of it rather than against it.

Ronan, however, was a breed separate from these students, indolent and dark and threatening on the pristine lawns of academic stride. It was clear from a glance, and there had been many glances, that he was not made for this campus.

“God, they’ll let just anyone in,” one particularly obnoxious student said, not bothering to lower his voice as he jerked his head towards Ronan. He looked like Gansey if Gansey had given into his default setting, and his friends laughed at Ronan’s expense with little regard to social niceties.

Declan and Matthew reacted immediately to this, protection hardwired into their DNA, but it was Adam whose voice cut through evenly. 

“Clearly. Maybe if your father hadn’t spent so much money to get you into Harvard, he could have paid for you to get some manners.”

It wasn’t his best, Blue could have come up with something better. Henry certainly could have come up with something scathing. But it was enough to see the student flush with the admonishment and eye Ronan’s cruel smile with some reconsideration. The group walked away quickly enough, leaving only a trace of disgruntled entitlement and Matthew’s quiet chuckle.

Matthew bumped his fist and Declan simply watched with careful calculation.

“My knight in shining armor,” Ronan said sarcastically, but Adam could see clearly the look in Ronan’s eye.

* * *

Even just one year ago, it would have been unheard of for all three Lynch brothers to spend any time together outside of St. Agnes church without incurring a fight of some sort, verbal or physical. So it should not have been a surprise when the days’ long irritable bickering between Ronan and Declan morphed into something more personal and bitter.

It started with this, Declan gesturing meaningfully at Harvard’s School for Veterinary Sciences and asking Matthew if he wanted to go to Harvard. Declan’s words might have been a lit match to Ronan’s waiting bomb. Adam could practically see the flame set fire to the ground they stood on.

“Jesus, Declan,” Ronan scathed, “If he doesn’t want to go to school, he doesn’t fucking have to.” He stared out at the campus obstinately, resentfully. “And it doesn’t have to be _here_.”

Declan sucked air through his straight teeth and shut his eyes against whatever less refined retort was building in him. Adam saw his hand clench automatically towards the pocket where he knew Declan kept his antacids.

“I only meant that while we were here,” he finally let out in measured tones, “it could be something to consider.”

Even Matthew, ever playing the balancing act between his brothers, looked a little skeptical at this.

Immediately defensive, Declan insisted, “I’m not trying to force anything.” He turned to look earnestly at Matthew. “I just want you to have a good life.”

“Oh, and the only way to accomplish that is through a college degree?” Ronan shot back. His inky black mood seeped into every inch of his posture and it was an astonishment that the shape of his shoulders alone did not cow Declan into silence.

Instead, Declan snapped, “Christ, not everything is about _you_.”

At the same time, Matthew stepped between them placating, “Ah, Ronan, I’m not going to go to Harvard. It’s too cold here. And besides, I’m not as smart as Adam anyway.”

He threw Adam one of his usual bright smiles and Adam wondered for a moment if Matthew, endlessly loving and kind and affectionate, ever got tired of mediating.

“Whatever.” The fight was gone from Ronan’s voice but the irritation ran deep. He shoved his hands deep into his pocket and walked a little ways away from the group.

Matthew made a face like “what can you do?” at his eldest brother before joining Ronan and slinging an arm over his shoulder in boyish solidarity.

Declan made a single, efficient noise of exasperation before turning to Adam as though looking for confirmation. Adam offered only a shrug.

“It’s not for everyone.”

“I just want him to have a good life,” Declan repeated, this time softer.

Adam said nothing further and moved to join Ronan. Declan remained apart, alone.

* * *

“Can we stay one more night?” Matthew asked as they reached the Volvo in the parking lot where it looked sleek and resigned to be put back into service. It looked a little like Declan, Adam thought.

“No,” Declan said, clearly irritable and clearly dreading the trip back in confined quarters.

“Can we get burritos from that place we saw billboards for on 95?”

“No,” Declan and Ronan said.

“Can we listen to my music the whole way back?”

“No,” Declan and Ronan and Adam said.

“Oh man,” Matthew sighed dramatically, “ _three_ brothers.”

Something warm settled in Adam.

* * *

Adam could not tell if Ronan’s desperation to get into the BMW was due to his desire to put miles between himself and Declan or simply because this was the longest he had gone without driving for as long as Adam had known him.

Ronan moved Adam’s small suitcase and his battered backpack to the BMW while Adam followed behind Declan and Matthew to use their bathroom before driving the final stretch to the Barns. Matthew had immediately thundered upstairs to his room, so when Adam emerged from the powder room on the first floor, he once again stood awkwardly with Declan.

Adam hated being in someone else’s home.

“I hope you had a good trip, Parrish,” Declan said briskly, politely, detached.

“Er, yeah. Thanks. For coming, I guess.”

Adam felt scrutinized under Declan’s stare. It held all the calculation of Ronan’s own piercing blue eyes but with none of the familiarity or fondness.

“You don’t like me,” Declan said suddenly. There was no accusation in Declan’s voice, just calm reason.

“You don’t like me either,” Adam responded, for lack of anything better in the face of bald honesty.

Declan’s lips made a thin line. “I never said that and I don’t appreciate you putting words in my mouth.”

“I don’t appreciate you putting words in mine, either.” Adam said evenly. “I told you, I won’t tell anyone the Lynch secrets.”

If Ronan was there, he would have insisted they were Adam’s secrets, too. But instead, Declan kept watching Adam evenly until something clicked.

“Oh, that’s not it, is it? Or that’s not all there is, at least.”

Like Ronan, Declan’s silence was powerful and yielded to the truth of the moment. Adam thought of Declan driving to Henriette once a week to attend Mass with his brothers after moving to DC, of Declan’s urgency to get Ronan out of Henrietta at the promise of trouble, of Declan stepping in as Matthew’s parent, of Declan leaping from the table to protect Ronan from his dreaming.

“I’m not going to leave Ronan either,” Adam promised.

Again, Adam could see how much younger Declan really was compared to how he strategically carried himself. He had not taken on this role of pseudo-parent particularly well, but it was hard to expect someone so young and so ill-equipped to take on the role of two parents practically overnight. But still, he had protected Ronan against Greywarren seekers and all of their father’s vast lies. He wanted Matthew, a dream who by any rights should not even exist, have a future that included a college degree and all of the doors that could open up for him. He let them pick his birthday dinner.

Not for the first time, Adam felt a surge of resentment towards Niall for not preparing any of his sons to live without him. He was not going to leave Ronan to deal with the mess of his absence. He was not going to shake Ronan’s core once more, he would not take this fragile man he loved and ruin him in ways Ronan was already too familiar with.

“I hate your dad,” he told Declan because he could not tell Ronan.

Something like surprise broke out over Declan’s typically composed expression, but whatever response he might have had was cut off from Ronan opening the front door.

“Fighting nice, kids?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe and eyeing them with a raised eyebrow.

“I thought that was your job, Lynch,” Adam shot back, turning away from Declan.

Ronan shrugged elegantly.

“I can fucking delegate. You ready to go?”

Adam nodded and Ronan shouted up to Matthew that they were leaving. Matthew tumbled down the stairs to say his goodbyes. Adam hugged Matthew, or rather, he permitted Matthew to hug him. He nodded at Declan over Matthew’s shoulder before Matthew released Adam to perform his usual complicated handshake with Ronan.

“Drive safe,” Declan offered, hands neatly in the pockets of his suit pants.

Ronan flipped him off without any heat, and then he and Adam were out the door.

They were on the highway for twenty minutes, drifting through the lanes and listening to Ronan’s blaring techno, before Ronan felt restored enough to lower the music and glance at Adam.

“What were you and Declan talking about?”

Adam knew Ronan’s relationship with his father was a difficult field fraught with landmines and he had no interest in setting off a single one. It was enough, for now, to let Ronan work through and come to his own terms in his own time. Adam would still be there.

So instead, Adam brought Ronan’s knuckles to his lips in a lazy kiss. “The best route to take to get back to the Barns.”

The effect was instantaneous and Adam laughed out loud at the scathing line of swears that fell from Ronan’s mouth.

“Jesus Christ, as if I don’t drive this every week,” he growled, anger raising their speed another ten miles over the limit.

Adam let the sound of Ronan’s complaining fill the car. He could not wait to get home.


End file.
